Kisses Cursed
by The Fictionist
Summary: Fairytale AU. Loosely inspired by Beauty and the Beast. Some said he was once a man, cursed, and some that he sold his soul to demons for power and became one in turn. Others said that such evil as he could never have been human. That he was a nightmare, left upon the earth from a very long time ago. Harry just knew it wasn't safe to walk the Riddle House after dark.
1. The House on the Hill

With a name like Little Hangleton, it wasn't surprising that there was a shadow over the town.

Indeed, it is the hallmark of all gothic stories: the looming manor upon a hill, surrounded by a graveyard. Yet, it remained that no one nearby went near the Riddle House. And those who did stray into its wild and overgrown garden never returned past the gates again.

At least, not whole.

Sometimes a finger returned, sometimes an eye; and sometimes all limbs walked home intact with nothing left inside.

Never a heart left. They said that the monster took it to replace the empty space in his chest. Others said he ate them.

Everybody knew the stories. And everybody knew about the offerings.

Each year, there was an offering. Something to appease the monster lurking behind the walls.

All gods must have the proper sacrifices, after all - and so must the devil.

They never said his name. To do so was to invite him to visit you in the night, with creeping tendrils and gleaming scarlet eyes.

_You-Know-Who._

_The Dark Lord._

_The Beast._

Some said he was once a man, cursed, and some that he sold his soul to demons and became one in turn. Others said that such evil as he could never have been human. That he was instead a nightmare, left lingering upon the earth a long time ago.

Harry stuck his trembling hands in his pockets and swallowed. His breath trailed thin ribbons in the air, like dragon's smoke. It was always cold upon the hill. No warmth, and never any sunshine. The sky was always black, as if someone had cast cardboard over the sun to leave only perpetual night.

Colder and colder, the closer one got. Darker, like thick smoke and shadow caressed you.

And every year an offering, despite this. Even if they had to be thrown crying and screaming through the gates.

This year, it was supposed to be Ginny. The eighteen year old was a year younger than himself.

A year younger, with a family already crippled by losses.

Harry couldn't stand it.

He, however, had no one. No one who would particularly care if he stayed or died.

He didn't know exactly what waited for him in the Riddle House, but he was not a sacrifice.

He was a volunteer.

He entered.

* * *

It seemed even darker the second he stepped into the garden. His eyes widened in shock, as vines and the roots of trees seemed to twist and move around him. He felt them brush curiously against the sides of his clothes, the back of his neck.

The grounds stretched untamed as far as he could see, all the way down the other side of the hill to the fence. Yet, the instant one stepped past the gates again, the grass was clean cut and normal. And the ground certainly didn't move, he knew. He'd been around there, before.

But the garden didn't try and stop him from approaching the house. He just felt very … watched. As if every inch of the garden and the manor was staring at him, trying to see straight into his soul. Assessing him.

He exhaled a shaky breath. The door opened for him before he could even touch it, just like the gate. He stayed frozen for a second, his meagre —optimistic— bag of belongings clutched tightly in his hands.

Sometimes the offerings didn't come back for weeks. Maybe he'd have some use for his clothes. He'd find a use for them.

He could feel his heartbeat hammering in his chest.

He'd been expecting a complete mess, but the house was immaculately tidy. Though it was dark, from what he could see the house had an old, casual sort of grandeur to it that took Harry's breath away.

He swallowed, once more, but the lump stayed stuck in his throat.

Something about the house left an uneasy prickling in his spine, nonetheless.

"Hello?" he called out. "Hello, is anyone there?"

It was morning, but in here it didn't feel like it was. Only the palest shafts of sunlight managed to find their way to the floor.

There was no response, and seemingly nobody there to greet him.

Had the beast died in the last year? Harry didn't think so. He could still sense someone or something watching him intently.  
Harry spun around as the door slammed shut behind him, eyes wide. He squared his shoulders, before turning again. Squeezed his eyes shut, exhaled. He could do this.

The Beast was just a man. He had to be, surely?

He stepped further into the house, his bag clutched in front of him like a shield. His eyes darted over corner, every flicker. And there were a lot of flickers, almost as if the very house was moving around him.

"You're the offering."

The house went completely still.

Harry whipped around at the cold breath against his neck. Or he would have, if a hand didn't clamp tightly on his hip, and another on the back of his neck. It kept him staring rigidly ahead.

"Don't turn around." The words were hissed against his ear, lips grazing the shell. The fingers were freezing against his skin.

"Harry. My name is Harry," he managed. "Not 'the offering.'"

"_Harry_." His name was rolled on the monster's tongue, a low croon.

He'd never wanted to turn around more. He wanted to see what he was dealing with, if the beast really had eyes like blood and hellfire - if he was substance and flesh that could be fought, or something far more insidious. His eyes darted down to glimpse pale, spidery fingers hiding deceptive strength.

He swallowed. His shoulders stiffened as he felt the monster press close, inhaling deeply against his neck.

"Are you … Voldemort?" His voice stayed more or less even, mercifully. He couldn't help but think that even the slightest weakness would get him torn to pieces. It was too late to fear summoning the creature now.

"You dare speak my name?" The voice was cold.

At least that answered the question. His skin had gone numb where the other's hands restrained him.

"Sorry. What would you like me to call you?" As much he half wanted to say something sarcastic, he figured that politeness would only help him here.

There was a small stretch of silence, before the hand on his hip moved up, to dig nails in over his pounding chest. Harry's breath stuttered.

"You have a strong heart, Harry Potter. Delectable."

Harry jerked a little with unease, though he still couldn't turn his head. The nails kept pressing in until a small sound of pain escaped him.

"If you're going to kill me, you may as well let me look at you before you do," Harry snapped. "Face my executioner."

The monster laughed at that, grip loosening. It wasn't a nice laugh. It wasn't warm or mirthful, it was as frozen as the man's touch and equally unforgiving.

"There are four rules," Voldemort stated, instead. "One, don't try and escape. Two, dinner is every day at six, sharp. I expect you to look your best, or suffer the consequences." The hand on the back of his neck gave a small squeeze. "Three, don't ever enter my quarters on the left side of the house. And … most importantly of all," the Dark Lord's mouth was by his other ear now. "Don't leave your room between sunset and sunrise. No matter what you hear, or for any other reason. Is that understood?"

"... yes."

"We'll talk again if you last the night in my home."

Then he was gone.

* * *

_A/N: You know me, helpless to resist a plot bunny once it latches on. Don't worry, this won't be too long. 13 chapters max, and probably less than that. Hope you enjoy it anyway and that your interest is piqued :) Feedback, as always, is much appreciated._

_Beta'd by the wonderful Lydia Theda. Thank her for the quality increase! :) x_


	2. The Riddle and the Nameless

Harry spent the time between his arrival and dinner exploring his new surroundings.

Voldemort had given him no indication or clue on which room was supposed to be his - and there were a lot of empty rooms, all of them clearly in disuse.

He was starting to assume that he should just pick one and call it his own, considering he'd be staying here for the not inconsiderable future. Or maybe it was considerable. Maybe it could be measured out in a couple of hours, and the rise and fall of the sun.

Maybe by the morning he'd be blood seeping in the hallways, and a compilation of limbs sent back to the village in a gift box. Returned. Didn't fit right. He shuddered at the thought.

But he didn't run.

Shadows over a small village would seem easy to run away from, like rain clouds and wolves in the forest. Driven back and fought.

But the village was cursed too. The manor and the monster was merely the central point. Maybe that was why they kept giving offerings - hope and hopelessness. The hopelessness of not being able to stand up to such a creature, when all who did died and all who ran were killed the second they crossed the boundary lines.

Every old manor had a certain amount of territory allotted to it after all.  
And though they saw the sun in the village, they hadn't had a summer in all of Harry's memory.

Winter crunched for half a year beneath their feet, frozen and swallowing up what days and light they did have. Autumn and spring came too, but always bleak, always grey and rainy. But not as dark as the hill - nothing could beat the almost living shadow devouring the Riddle House.

Then there was always hope - hope that, if this was a curse and not just the condemning tyranny of a monster, that it could be relieved.

There were always stories of such things too.  
Of saviours and heroes, pretty knights and maidens in shining armour, of true love and pure hearts.

Harry couldn't help but notice that all the mirrors in the manor were broken, with the shards of glass dusty and never cleaned away, even when everything else in the house was spotless.

The sheets on all the beds were fresh and ironed. And the house really did _move. _He saw it as he switched lights on. The paintings, too, were slashed through. Scribbled through where the Lord of the Manor should have been.

He eventually chose a room, at the far right of the building. It seemed to be in the best condition and...well, he was just drawn to it, he supposed.

It was the only room in the manor that wasn't in some way destroyed, and he studied it curiously.

There was a large four poster bed, a magnificent writing desk and various other comforts.

And there was the painting.  
Harry stared at it, stepping up to read the inscription.

'Tom Riddle, jr.'

It was the only painting Harry had seen in the house that hadn't been destroyed. It depicted a handsome young man, standing in a full portrait. He had dark hair, skin like ivory and a knowing sort of look in his eyes.

Harry's head tilted.

He wondered why this picture, of all the landscapes and family portraits in the building, would be spared. It didn't look like anything special.

It felt like it was staring at him.

He wasn't surprised. This whole house was bloody creepy. He gave a slight shudder and turned away.

Wetted his lips. Oddly...well, he wasn't actually sure what to do with himself.  
He'd been prepared, however subconsciously, for a fight to death.

Whilst Voldemort had been undoubtedly unnerving, he hadn't done anything overtly life-threatening. Just dug his nails in a bit.

It made him wonder exactly how the bodies accumulated.

He spun on his heel, examining the room again. His skin itched, palms tingling. In the end, he tossed his belongings upon the sheets, and stared at them.

It was funny to think that this was what was to become of him. A small assortment of belongings in a threadbare bag - a toothbrush, a few scarce changes of clothes, a knife and a photo album would be the sum total of his existence.

Nothing special. Nothing momentous.  
Just a collection of stuff.

But he supposed that was why he was here - ordinary stuff. Not much to leave behind, and even less to take forward. Maybe everyone was just stuff in the end. Stuff and dust.

He didn't even have anything appropriate for dinner. Did that mean he was going to become dinner? And what exactly happened between sunset and sunrise?

He strode across the room, over to the window.

At least it wasn't barred; though it did take a few good shoves to force it open. He drew in a breath, looking for something fresh and sharp against the stale heaviness in the room.

There was nothing. It wasn't like smoke, but the sky was so dark that it felt like it might as well have been. Like he could catch it in his hand.

He shivered at the ice that seemed to seep in, and after a moment shut the window again with a sigh. Even if he wanted to escape this way, cloaked in night, it looked like a pretty brutal drop.

He dragged a hand over his face. Escape was pointless, anyway - however much his bones thrummed for it.

Then he froze. Had...the portrait moved? His mouth ran completely dry.

Of course, in a so far magical manor house, a moving painting was not the strangest of things. But it made the back of his neck prickle either.

But he could have sworn its head as moved to track his progress across the room. He swallowed, eyes wide.

Maybe he was just being an idiot.

"...hello?" his voice was a little raspsy.

"You're the offering."

Harry immediately had a flash of deja vu. And nearly jumped out of his skin. Moving and speaking portraits seemed very different things, even if the distinction seemed ridiculous. It was, after all, logical that it could speak if it could move.

It still sent a shudder down his spine. Not that there was anything wrong with the voice. It was a nice, pleasing baritone.

"Yeah, I'm Harry," he said. He glanced at the inscription. "You're...Tom, right?"

"Correct. I am the Riddle."

Harry's brow furrowed at the strange phrasing.

"The Riddle?" he repeated. The painting just gave him a sly sort of smile in response.

"You should leave, you know," Riddle said. "When it gets dark."

"Voldemort said not to go out between sunset and sunrise."

"He would."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked.

"Beast by day, monster by night. Beware the war when shadow meets light," it all but sang. He really wasn't reassured by the way Tom was grinning at him, sharply. And the...well, the almost riddle didn't answer anything either.

Harry swallowed.

"If there's a monster at night, obviously it's not a very good idea to go for a walk," he replied.

"So you will dine with the beast then," Riddle murmured. "Interesting choice."

Harry's eyes narrowed.

"You act like this is all some sort of game," he noted. The painting raised his brows, head definitely tilting as it examined him.

"Isn't it?"

Harry's mouth soured at that response, and he turned away. Wondered what he should be doing with himself now, in the hours between dinner. Except talking to an infuriating painting.

Who was Tom Riddle anyway? The former tenant before Voldemort? Or someone else entirely.

This was going to be interesting if he survived the night.

* * *

There was nobody else at dinner. The house guided him to the dining hall at six O clock, promptly.

There was quite a spread, across the long table. Everything he could possibly hope to eat, really. His stomach gave a growl of hunger.

He'd been too nervous for a substantial breakfast that morning, and hadn't eaten since.

There were sweetbreads, and potatoes. A whole roasted duck. A fresh salad, a bowl of various vegetables. Peas. Sweetcorn. Carrots. Broccoli.

It all smelled divine.

He wondered who had cooked it. He'd found a kitchen in his exploration, but no people. Outside of Voldemort. He wondered if the man intended to poison him, and poked at the gorgeous food with reluctant suspicion.

Well, he was going to die anyway if he starved himself, wasn't he? In a situation such as his, hunger strike really did no good. He had nothing to lose in having dinner.

It tasted just as good as it looked, and he gave a small sound of content.  
At least he could die in the lap of luxury, if that counted for anything.

Still, he wondered where Voldemort was. If it was apparently so important that he turn up for dinner. Then again, the man had said he'd see him tomorrow if he survived the night. Maybe he was about to be dinner once he was paralyzed by poison in the food. Or dead. Or something.

Was it really just him and Voldemort in this manor?

Even if he survived, that seemed a lonely life.

As he continued to eat his fill, he seemed to lose his appetite with every bite. The duck was delicious, so was everything - but he barely got through the plate before he was shoving it away.

He had no idea what he was supposed to do now. Start taking plates to the kitchen and clean up? He had no idea. He stood up, glanced at the windows overlooking the garden.

It's difficult to tell, but the sun is already setting in the sky. Dipping lower and lower, and taking the rays of light with him.

_Don't leave your room between sunset and sunrise._

Was his room safe then? He hadn't seen any massive locks on it. Nothing that would keep a monster out. He'd never liked the word 'monster', any more than he liked 'beast'.

Call a man Voldemort, and at least he could make a guess at what he was dealing with. Less named things were far too vague, and monsters came in many forms. His muscles tensed a little.

Definitely time to go back, before the sun set completely.

* * *

He made it in good time, not intending to be stupid enough to linger. Not on the first night.

Even though his bones felt heavy all of a sudden, leaden. Maybe he was poisoned. But it was just heaviness really, like weight on his shoulders and ball and chain shackles on his feet.

By the time he reached 'his' room, he was sweating slightly. He glanced at the portrait again, and Riddle gave him a thin smile.

"Did you enjoy dinner?"

"...yes, thanks," Harry said. Honestly, that portrait was just a bit weird. Polite enough, but very strange.

The smile broadened.

"Seeds and deeds, Harry. I have another one for you - what do you call the nameless?" It was that same, mocking, sing song voice. It made Harry's skin crawl, if he was being honest.

"I don't know," he muttered. "What _do_ you call the nameless? Surely you can call them whatever you want, if they don't have a name." He was far more concerned with the darkening room, the sinking sun. In a minute, at the most.

He moved over the window. Could feel the anticipation sinking into his skin.

And then everything was black. Absolutely everything. Like black smog, and liquid shadows outside. His own room, despite the lights being on to full capacity, had turned dimly lit too.

It made everything eerier, distorting familiar shapes to something different.

He supposed, if it was dark by day, it would be even darker at night. Here, in the centre of things. He wetted his lips. Suddenly, in comparison to stumbling alone in the blackness, talking to Tom seemed a far more appealing option.

"Are you going to answer, then, Tom? What do you call the nameless?"

He turned again, and froze.

The Portrait was empty. There was nothing there. Just - that wasn't Tom.

Just as quickly as the canvas was black, there was a new form there.

Harry swallowed. Squared his shoulders.

This one looked very different. Terrifying. Eyes like hellfire, skin as pale as ivory. Long, spidery fingers that he recognized from his hip. Hairless, noseless.

"Tom?" he asked, very quietly. The inscription was still the same - Tom Riddle, Jr. And yet...well, this creature looked absolutely nothing like the handsome young man who'd been leaning against the frame earlier.

He took a wary step closer.

"Harry!" It was a call, from outside the room. Like Ginny's voice. "Harry, help me!"

His eyes widened, and he immediately started making his way there but -

_Don't leave your room between sunset and sunrise, no matter what you hear._

He felt sick. His eyes darted between the door and the painting. The man, the creature, was watching him with those mirthless, bloody eyes. He quivered on the spot, torn between decisions. His heart hammered in his chest.

He wrenched his gaze away, to the painting.

It shook its head.

Why had the painting changed? What the hell was going on here?

"I don't understand," Harry said. "Where's Riddle? Who are you?"

"Don't."

Harry recognized the voice immediately. He'd heard it once today already. It was V-

"Don't," repeated, firmly.

He wondered if he would ever get used to the feeling of déjà vu. His eyes raked over the other's features closely.

Whilst he didn't look pleasant, and those eyes were terrifying, he really wasn't what one would expect from a beast. Harry's fingers clenched to fists at his sides, his brow furrowing with confusion.

The cries started again. High pitched screams, wails for help. Everyone he'd ever loved, crying out in the darkness. Harry took an immediate step towards the door again, distracted, shaking.

"Don't." It sounded more lazily, than commanding – but the warning was there nonetheless.

"What's out there?" Harry's voice cracked, just slightly. "What the hell is going on?"

"The Riddle already told you."

Harry stared, uncomprehending. An…actual riddle? He thought back to Tom, eyes locked on the painting, uneasily.

"…beast by day. Monster by night. Beware the war when shadow meets light," he whispered, finally. "Are you…" the screams sounded again. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, bile in his throat.

Monster by night.

"He'll be coming for you. He'll always be coming."

"V-" he began.

"Idiot," the painting all but hissed. "_Don't."_

Harry swallowed. Every time he came close to addressing, or thinking…

"Why am I not allowed to address you?" he phrased it, carefully.

_What do you call the nameless?_

"Seek not to name the nameless. There is a library here. You should read up on the rules. The ones who did got the furthest."

"Got the furthest?" Harry questioned. It said nothing, just stared at him. Harry wetted his lips. "Okay. Thanks, then. You're really helpful."

"He's boring. You should come and spend time with me, offering."

It was another voice, and Harry yelped, spinning to face the door.

And then…then he just stared, mouth dry.

"How the hell many of you are there!?"

* * *

_A/N: Sorry for this chapter. Bear with me whilst I set up, I guess? _


	3. The First Night

It looked like The Riddle.

Almost.

Same handsomeness, same form - it was as if the painting had sprung to life. Except not quite right.

Instead of the gorgeous, albeit cold, blue eyes that Harry had seen in the painting, these were like obsidian ink. Then, in sharp contrast to bloodlessly pale skin that had been creamy and healthy in the painting, The Monster's veins dipped to the same darkness as his gaze. Coupled with his dark clothing, he looked like an old black and white photograph. Something sucked dry. Only his lips, vibrant and bloody, had colour.

"There are six of us," it answered him, leaning against the door but not stepping in, smiling. "You've met the Beast, The Riddle, and You-Know-Who here." Unlike Voldemort's voice, high and cold, the man before him had Riddle's voice; pleasing in its baritone.

"And you're the Monster," Harry clarified.

"Quite," it murmured. Okay. So the bastard looked rather creepy, Harry could admit that, but he didn't see how he was a monster. At lea, he didn't see how this seeming incarnation was worse than anyone else in this house. The Nameless, or 'You-Know-Who' as the monster referred to him, was actually more frightening simply on a visual comparison.

And if The Monster looked like a distorted version of The Riddle, he was guessing that the Beast in some way held resemblance to The Nameless too.

He glanced at the current painting again. You Know Who's expression was blank, watching the two of them. The Monster more so. Harry exhaled a sharp breath.

"Why do they call you a monster?" he asked quietly. The Monster shrugged.

"Why do they call you the offering?" it returned.

"By all means, feel free to answer that one too," Harry snapped. "I've been here less than 24 hours. I have no idea what's going on."

The screams, at least, had stopped.

"Must be frustrating," The Monster said. "Why don't you just run?" It took a step back away from the door, as if to clear the path. Harry's insides rolled.

Maybe he was being bias and judging, but he wasn't going to trust anything called a 'monster' quite that easily. Still.

"The Riddle said I should leave when it gets dark, as well," he remembered, noting the words. Trying to figure this out.

"He would," The Nameless stated. Harry glanced over at the painting again, a shudder running down his spine. He was certain he'd already heard that exact phrasing today already. Except that time it had The Riddle's response to Voldemort telling him he shouldn't leave, instead.

It was a combination of unhelpful contradictions, and made it impossible to decide which one of them he was supposed to trust. Maybe he couldn't trust any of them, and wasn't that a cheerful thought?

But either way, he couldn't run. He'd volunteered for this. Admittedly, he hadn't expected this precisely, but nonetheless he wouldn't run now.

He looked between the two of them cautiously, a bad taste in his mouth. His limbs still felt uncommonly heavy - had done since dinner.

"Why's he called a monster?" he asked the painting instead.

"Because that's what he is," You-Know-Who replied.

"What's he done that's so bad?" Harry persisted, looking for more of an explanation than some tautological nonsense.

The Nameless said nothing in response, mouth turned down thin.

"What have you done?" Harry asked The Monster instead, frustrated by the lack of proper answers. It had answered him before, so maybe it would do so again.

"Come out and I'll show you," it said, giving him a singularly lovely, close-lipped smile. Harry's eyes narrowed, and he folded his arms.

It still hadn't stepped into his room, and considering Voldemort had told him not to leave it...he could only guess that The Monster couldn't enter. He wondered if the same held true for the Beast.

"Does that line normally work for you?"

It shrugged at him, smile only broadening. Harry shook his head, turning away. This day had been one development after another, and he was exhausted by it. He sighed, tugging a hand through his hair, staring towards the window. Not that there was much of a view, when the building was so encased in shadowy night.

The screaming sounded again, shrill and sharp. Harry swore under his breath, whipping around again. The Monster continued to stand there, looking like he wasn't planning on moving anytime soon. Harry wondered if he should just march over and shut the door in his face. Probably.

The screaming had stopped once more.

"Are you doing that?" Harry asked, in regards to the...screaming. He didn't know how the other could possibly be doing it...but...its eyes were less friendly now, as if it knew Harry's thoughts and his dismissal. Knew that it made Harry's skin crawl.

The Monster opened its mouth properly for the first time, under Harry's scrutiny. It's lips stretched wide and cavernous, with teeth sharper than anything he'd ever seen. Even the wolves that hunted in the forest. They were startlingly white, and between them rested a black snake-like tongue. The screaming hit him a moment later - the voices spewing out of The Monster's mouth as if they were trapped in his throat.

Please Harry, help me! Stop him! Please, just make it stop, I'll do anything-

Harry blanched. He stared, wide-eyed, unable to look away from the sight. After a moment, The Monster's teeth clicked shut once more. Back to a pleasant smile, and silence with it.

Oh god. Harry swallowed.  
He glanced at the painting once more, even if he suspected no reassurance or explanation would be found.

The Nameless raised a delicate brow at him, picking at its nails.

Worst of all, Harry had an uneasy feeling in his gut that hearing his loved ones crying out when the monster screamed was only the beginning. His fists clenched at his sides.

He was starting to get the awful feeling, too, that this was going to be a nightly ritual. He could shut the door, but that wouldn't stop him hearing, would it? How the hell was he supposed to sleep with all of this? He never asked for this! Well, he volunteered, but he hadn't expected it to go like this, he would admit.

He'd expected to be hunted,ripped to pieces and eaten on the spot - not thrown into this 'game' where he had to willingly choose to step out and die. He'd already volunteered for death once. It wasn't so easy to do so again, when he'd done his part on the matter already.

"What do you want?"

"You," The Monster said, simply. "I want my offering. And I won't stop until I have it."

"It?" Harry repeated, incredulously. "I'm not a bloody it. Person. Human. Is this registering to any of you?" He looked between both of them, eyes flashing. "From the minute I arrived, you've all been acting like this is some kind of game."

"It is a game," The Nameless stated. "More or less."

Harry's jaw tightened at that. Of course, The Riddle had said a similar thing but the fact that they all obviously treated this and his life as some kind of amusement…

Bile clawed up his throat.

"You make me sick." His voice cracked.

"So run," The Monster all but sang. "It's not like you chose to be here."

"Actually, I did," Harry snapped. They both froze.

"You...volunteered?" Nameless repeated.

"You act like that's never happened before," Harry said. For creatures so different in countenance, they had exactly the same expression now as they stared at him. Harry blinked. "It has happened before, right? Parents for children? Siblings for siblings?"

It didn't make sense that he would be the only one.

"He actually is The Offering," The Nameless murmured, breathless.

"That's what you've been calling me the whole time?" Harry raised his brows. Though their insistence of calling him that didn't make sense to him, it was hardly a new development.

"Does the Beast know?" The Monster asked the painting. "The others?"

The others. He'd met four out of six. For a moment, he wondered what the hell they called themselves. He wondered, too, if there was a nice one among them. The Heart would be a nice one to meet, all things considered.

"Know what?" Harry snapped. "What do you mean? What are you talking about? Why is me volunteering such a big deal?"

He wasn't sure if this was frightening, or just confusing. He was veering towards confusion, with the safety of the room. The Monster was intimidating, but if it really couldn't get at him, so long as he didn't leave the room...he had nothing to be scared of.

Meeting it outside of the room, in the middle of the night, was to be a different matter entirely.  
One he sincerely intended to avoid. When the Monster continued to simply study him, he looked to the Nameless again for explanation.

"He can't tell you anything," The Monster ventured, then. "I can. The Riddle will. The Beast and The Nameless can't. It's against the rules."

"You can but The Riddle will? And you keep going on about rules?"

"The Monster is a Monster, outside of stepping into this room it can do whatever it wants. It is an abomination," The Nameless said, tightly. "That doesn't mean it will. The Riddle is compelled to answer any questions that you put towards him, regarding your...situation and the house."

But, of course, as the name suggested Harry was guessing, that didn't mean the bastard answered straight. He answered in his namesake, even if the information was probably correct. Bloody fantastic.

"And The Beast?" Harry pressed. "Why can't he do the same as the Monster? And don't say it's because he's not the Monster."

The Nameless' jaw clicked shut again from where he'd been about to speak.

"It goes against the rules for the Beast to do so," The Monster shrugged. "He can't."

"Why don't you just break the rules? What's stopping you?" He was definitely getting a headache. Just being killed would have been so much easier.

"Nobody breaks the rules," The Nameless said.

"Why not?" Harry persisted. No answer came. "What about the other two? Beast, Riddle, Nameless, Monster. What can they do? Who are they? Am I going to meet them on a bloody full moon or something?"

He didn't know why he looked at You Know Who, when the painting simply continued to pick at its nails, watching him but not replying. Harry figured he probably couldn't, again.

He wondered what the point of the bastard was. He assumed, if this was a game, that he would have a point to being there. Though really, what was the point of a nameless thing?

He looked at the Monster again, shifting on his feet.

"Let me guess, you don't fancy answering any of these various queries?" Harry huffed, jaw clenched.

"Why do something for free, when I can do it for a price," The Monster purred.

"And what's the price?"

"Don't," Nameless warned. Harry ignored him this time.

"Oh, that depends on what you want to know," The Monster said. "It could be your first smile, perhaps the scent of your childhood home, or the sound of your voice."

Harry's mouth had gone dry. What the hell type of pricing list was that supposed to be? He looked at the Nameless.

"You mentioned a library. Can I find my answers there?" he asked.

"Some of them, and the rules," the painting replied. "You can also ask the Riddle, free of charge providing you can solve what he's actually saying."

But if he wanted immediate and unlimited knowledge, he needed to deal with the Monster.  
At least, that was what he assumed hovered unsaid on the Nameless' countenance.

"No deal then," Harry said, to the Monster. It bared its teeth at him in response.

"You're going to have to pick a side some time, offering."

"My name's H-"

"Don't."

Harry looked at the painting once more - the initial sharpness of its first reprimand was back, the urgency for silence.

"You really do have a thing about names, don't you?" Harry returned.

"Names have power," the painting replied. "You should be careful what you name, and who you give your name to."

Harry wetted his lips.

If names had power, what power did 'offering' have? Because they certainly seemed to have something about that one, and his volunteering.

"It already knows my name." The screams had addressed him directly, after all.

"Knowledge is not the same as giving something. He cannot use your name freely," the painting said.

Right. Had he mentioned that dying would have been the easiest option?  
He would have asked, too, what the other meant by picking a side - but he had a feeling that unless he wanted to exchange something, he wouldn't be getting a helpful response.

Still, how much did he really need his first smile anyway?

It seemed stupid to do anything hasty before he'd looked at the library though. For now, he was stuck, stuck until daybreak.

He had a feeling that it was going to be a very long night.

* * *

The next morning dawned with bleary eyes, and exhaustion.

Harry hadn't got a wink of sleep. The Monster had stayed outside of his door all night, screaming those voices at him when it couldn't get it in, and he wouldn't come out.

It was only when the first thin shaft of sunlight hit the door from the window, that it disappeared. Fuzzed like a bad connection, and vanished from sight.

The painting went black, and the Riddle was back. Eyeing him with the same terrible look of amusement that they all had. Harry squared his shoulders.

"The rules. What are they?" he demanded, immediately.

"Good morning, Harry," Riddle replied, settling comfortably against the frame. "I see you survived your first night."

"You have to answer my questions," Harry said. Tom grimaced in response to that.

"I presume you mean the rules of the house?"

"What else would I mean?" Harry felt wariness coil in his gut.

"Rules of the house," Riddle said. This time, it's voice was flat, expression blank. "One - if you eat something, you cannot leave again. Two - respect the paintings and the house. Three - seek not to name the nameless. Four - if you are granted right to leave, don't look back. Five - coming or going, there is a price to pay. Same goes for the moves of the game."

Harry blanched. Well, at least it wasn't a Riddle? He supposed the painting had to offer the rules, if asked. Even if Riddle had freedom to, well, riddle on other matters. But...well, he'd eaten, hadn't he?

"You could have told me this before I went down for dinner," he hissed, fists clenching. Riddle smirked at him.

"You didn't ask. You chose to dine with the Beast."

Harry spluttered at that response. He didn't ask? How was he even supposed to know to ask in the first place?

"And...the offering? What does that mean?"

"The offering. The sacrifice. It is given to the house and its inhabitants, by the village, to keep Voldemort from entering the town." Riddle was looking at him as if he was stupid for needing to ask. Harry's teeth gritted.

"Does it make a difference that I volunteered? I'm not a sacrifice, I chose this."

Riddle's expression changed, just as the others' had.

"Then that is beyond my jurisdiction," the painting said. "You would need to ask somebody else."

"Who? The Monster?" Harry laughed, bitterly. "What's the point of you then? What does beyond your jurisdiction even mean?"

"If that is the path you choose," Riddle said evenly, eyeing him still. "Go and have breakfast. The Beast is waiting for you. And eating no longer matters. Be careful."

"I met the Monster and you're telling me to be careful now?"

Riddle merely gave him a smile in response.  
Harry sighed.

He supposed surviving the first night counted for something, at least.

* * *

_A/N: Hope that wasn't anticlimatic. But yes, action should be more or less picking up from now on. :) Thank you for your reviews, they are greatly appreciated. Hope this chapter was at least marginally less bewildering. _


	4. The Monster in the Dark

_1. ____Beast. Riddle. Nameless. Monster. Past. Prophecy._

_One would assume that six pieces would make up the whole, and yet something seems to be missing still. It seems, from my investigations, that six parts make up the puzzle to be solved, instead of joining together to make the solution. I have determined that an offering must confront each piece in full to adequately break the curse. Or even have a chance at surviving the house._

_It is to the advantage of the offerings that the curse itself wants to be broken. However, to the detriment of this awful 'game,' not all pieces want to be slotted together. Do not trust them, and be very careful on the names that you give to them._

___Whilst the moves of the game are unlimited within the house, there is a price for each one taken and so you should be wary about where you step. I don't know if this is much help to you, though I hope it is, but in my time here I have jotted down those moves that I could identify, however vaguely. Along with anything else I think will help. I know I cannot defeat this, but I can only hope that this information will help somebody else end the shadow haunting our town before more people are hurt._

___The Beast will block the left side of the house, and his quarters. Do not attempt to approach his quarters by day. It is a death warrant. He will kill you. The Beast seems to act as an enforcer of the rules, where the Monster will act as a chaotic agent to the game. A wild card._

_However, as you will unfortunately be able to guess, that means-_

* * *

Harry was halfway through breakfast when a hand caught his chin from behind.

He immediately froze, not having even heard footsteps coming up behind him. He could guess who it was easily enough though, even if spidery fingers hadn't appeared on his hip yet.

He exhaled a careful breath. Swallowed.

"Are you intending to kill me now?" His voice remained steady. His eyes flicked to the side, to try and get a better look, but the Beast was out of his line of view.

"You survived the night, then."

"Beast by day, Monster by night. Interesting life you lead," Harry muttered; eyes dark and jaw tight. He didn't know Voldemort's part in this curse; whether he caused it, or if he was as cursed as anyone of the rest of them...but there were a very long trail of bodies trailing from this house either way. "I take it I'm still not allowed to look at you?"

"We'll see." Lips grazed down, pressing against his neck, tipping his head back slightly. Harry did his best to sustain his calm. Considering some of the victims had their throats ripped out though, that was rather difficult and his pulse automatically picked up.

He clenched his fingers around his cutlery as he tried to order his thoughts. He resisted the urge to pull away, though really, the Beast's grip was steely and he wasn't sure he'd be able to even if he tried.

"Are you intending to kill me now?" he asked, again. He discreetly flicked the battered notebook in front of him shut. He'd got it out of the library; on his way to breakfast, because honestly he didn't much want to waste time.

The longer he went without information, the less likely he was to survive.

The notebook seemed to have been left by one of the other offerings – a girl called Hermione Granger.

"Not today," was the Beast's response. "I liked her. She was one of the better ones. She would have tasted delicious too. Rich with ideas. She had a strong heart."

Harry's eyes darted over the notebook that obviously hadn't slipped the Beast's notice, and he nearly shuddered.

"What happened to her?"

"The Monster got her," the Beast said casually, still behind him, and the chair. He didn't think it was meant to be affectionate, even when an icy arm locked around his waist – more something to stop him from turning suddenly.

Harry's insides curdled.

"Who are the Past and the Prophecy?" he tried. "The other…well, the others? What Prophecy? Is it to do with the curse? Where are they?"  
"That is not your concern." There was a hint of warning in Voldemort's tone again. Harry's jaw clenched. If anything was his concern, he had a feeling that this was.

"Why won't you let me see you?" he asked.

"Because then you'd never leave your room again, which would be rather dull."

Harry bristled slightly.  
"You look like Nameless, don't you? Riddle and Monster look alike, so it stands to reason."

He regretted the deduction when it escaped his lips…but honestly, twenty four hours and his politeness was thrown out of the window with frustration.

Mercifully, the Beast seemed more amused than anything.

"Clever boy, Harry," he purred. "But you've seen the Riddle and the Monster, and the differences between them."

"You can't possibly be that bad looking," Harry said, incredulously. "Just show me. I'm going to die, so it's not like the truth is going to get out."

"Everything comes with a price."

Harry sighed, and figured he should probably have expected that. Nobody here was helpful – except Riddle, and that was only to the extent he absolutely had to be.

"So what's your price list? A – what, my sense of taste? The colour of my eyes?"

"That's the Monster's price list, not mine. Your eyes are lovely though, so I might take them anyway."

It really was terrifying how conversationally the Beast made such a claim. Bile clawed up his throat.

"You and the Monster have a different price list?" Of course they did. Nothing here could be simple and easy, apparently! "Why?"

"We seek different things. You can see that in the fates of the offerings." Voldemort sounded bored now, but Harry had frozen all over again. He hadn't actually thought about that. He'd realized that there were different…things in the house, but…

Maybe his brain had gone numb with the cold grip on his chin.

"So which one of you rips people to pieces and mutilates them?"  
He had a feeling he really didn't want to know the answer to this. He had a feeling he could guess.

"I do."

That wasn't what he was expecting. Harry nearly threw up on the spot anyway. He should not have had breakfast.

"Why?"

"Prices, prices…" the Beast tsked.

Fantastic.

* * *

_2. __Each seek that which they do not have, in different ways. The Monster will take your soul, slowly. It will ask for everything about you. I do not remember how to laugh anymore, but I can hear the sound of it coming out of his mouth when he took it for his own. They take the parts of an offering that they love, and keep it. It's why I started writing this down. Because, I think, out of all the things that they like about me, they liked my mind the most. It has already started._

_I cannot remember what I meant to say earlier, I think I must have traded it, but context would suggest that if one cannot explore the house by day, they must do so at night. You've probably guessed that it's a bad idea to walk the Riddle House by night. If you're not in the room, the Monster will take what he wants indiscriminately, and send the rest walking back home. Your best bet is to trade for safe passage for the night. He will ask for your name, but you must satisfy him with something else. If the price does not match the request, and you step out into the shadows, he will make up the debt – and once he's taken it, you can't get it back._

_Go to the left side of the house-_

* * *

"Anything interesting?" The Beast mocked. Harry was pretty sure the man…creature, was mocking him. He wondered if the Beast was the one trying to impede the curse, or if the Monster was. Then again, Riddle definitely was considering how maddeningly vague he was.

Harry wondered how stupid an idea it would be to ask about the left side of the house.

"What's your price list?"  
Maybe that would give him some clues, on the matter, either way.

"All of the bones in your left hand. Your eyelids. Your heart. Your tongue. Your kneecaps. It depends on what you want, Harry."

"Charming," Harry murmured. "Why haven't you killed me yet? The Monster didn't, because I didn't leave the room. And what the hell would you even going to _do_ with my kneecaps?"

"You are The Offering. Nameless told me."

"_I_ told you that," Harry said, confused. Or was this… "Is this about me volunteering? What's so important about that?"

The Beast said nothing. Harry wanted to thunk his head against the table.

The book also said he had to confront each 'piece' if he wanted a chance of winning this 'game' though. He was pretty sure it didn't count as confronting Voldemort if he never actually looked him in the face.

He was starting to see why people died doing this. If he gave his organs he was screwed. Thank god he still had his bloody tonsils in. The moves may have been unlimited, but there were only so many he could give until he lost the ability to play. He really didn't want to lose body parts.

"Any chance I can look at you without giving up my eyeballs?"

He had a feeling disbelief was suspending.

"What else do you have?" Voldemort returned, against his ear once more.  
Maybe he'd leave the Beast to last…

* * *

_3. Beware Eurydice. Beware the Prophecy. Beware the Kisses Cursed. Run. Get out. It's not safe. I am sorry. I am sorry. I am-_

* * *

Harry had flicked through the pages of book, flicked to the end of the book even if he knew it could never be happy. The way it cut remained unnerving, nonetheless.

By all the diagrams, all the notes and the planning, Hermione Granger had obviously been a very intelligent girl.

There was a bad taste in his mouth.

He'd spent the day reading, looking up information, making small talk with the Beast. He never got to actually look at him. The rooms in which he might have been able to, were swathed in shadow and the only thing facing over a table of cards was hellfire eyes in the darkness.

And, all the time, in the quiet, Harry had noticed it.  
It was more obvious now, then the first night, when he'd been more consumed by the chill of the Beast's presence, and his certainty of death.

Very soft, very quiet. Something _dripping. _

At first, he'd thought it must be the Beast tapping, or…something. But it wasn't. He had no idea what it was, and, in the darkness, he couldn't see either. It gave him an uneasy feeling though.

This whole house gave him an uneasy feeling.

Even then, he preferred Beast to Monster. Even if he had no idea what the Beast was precisely keeping him alive for. Hermione had said he 'enforced rules', so maybe Harry simply hadn't broken any rules then.

He was probably going to die tomorrow.  
The Riddle's repeated comments for most of the evening, as the bastard painting smirked at him, didn't help either.

"Not the shadow, but the clock. Not the curse, but the lock."

This time, he was prepared when the screaming started.

"You don't have to do that," Harry said, eyes squeezed shut against the terrible sound. "I know you're going to turn up. Most people would just say hello."

"One tends to need to have a name, to greet, to be polite," the Monster returned. Harry glanced at Nameless, who was watching him with narrowed eyes. Harry squared his shoulders, and focused on the monster, taking a step forward.

"What is your price for safe passage in moving around for tonight?" He asked, chin jutting up. The Monster laughed, delighted. He wondered, now, unnerved, whose laugh it was using today. Which offering's.

"Your name," it cooed. "After all, you know mine."

Harry's teeth gritted.

"I'm not giving you a name."

"Then I'm not giving you any promises of safety," it gave him that sharp mouthed grin again. "But feel free to try your luck anyway. Maybe I'll let you explore. Maybe I won't."

Harry's mouth felt horribly dry. He wanted more than anything to just cower back, to not step out there with that _thing. _It was even worse when he knew what the Monster could do, to even some small extent.

He drew in a breath. He was the offering. He was what they wanted…he was not a sacrifice. He had power here. A game was made with the chance of winning, or it was slaughter. He had to believe that. If he didn't, all was lost.

Even after one night and a day, he couldn't bear the thought of that.  
Ginny might be picked again next year. Or somebody else. Nobody was safe. Not whilst the offerings were demanded.

"So there's nothing you want from _your _offering then?" He asked. Nameless blinked at him at that, eyes starting to gleam with something that looked suspiciously like amusement. The Monster's head tilted.

"Who did you volunteer for?"

Harry's brow furrowed, not expecting the question.

"I'm sorry. Is that your price, knowing that?"

"No," The Monster said. "Tell me anyway."

"I'm not giving you her name, either," Harry said warily.

"Did you love her?"

Harry folded his arms, feeling rather too exposed under the interrogation.

"Information comes with a price," he hedged. "You don't answer my questions, I'm not answering yours."

Nameless actually burst out laughing this time, and the Monster gave the painting a foul look. Then it gave Harry a discerning one, as if considering him properly for the first time.

"My price for safe passage is the first time you fell in love."

Harry nearly choked on air.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

Harry stared at the Monster, heart hammering in his chest. The first time he _fell in love? _He didn't know much about love, or its price. But he figured that was important too – he wasn't an idiot.

They used to tell fairy-stories in the village; perhaps to try and keep people's hopes up about the situation. In those, at least, love was always held with the highest regard.

He wondered which one was more important – his name, or the first time he fell in love. If he'd even fallen in love, sometimes it could be hard to tell the difference between true love and some pale desperate imitation of it, considering the world.

Maybe he had yet to fall in love, and the Monster would take the possibility of it away. Then again, if he died here, he would never fall in love anyway.

"My first kiss," he bartered. Its head tilted the other way, watching him.

"Bold, aren't you, Offering?" It murmured. Harry gave a grim smile in response to that, waiting.

"Your first kiss," the Monster repeated. "For safe passage there. Let's not pretend we don't know where you intend to go. The taste of rain in your mouth, for safe passage back."

Harry blinked. Tried to consider all the angles to that, painfully aware that he was wasting time every second he stood arguing. Was the taste of rain in his mouth really that important?

He looked to the painting for guidance.

"If you're stupid enough to deal with it, I'm not helping you," the Nameless said. Harry huffed, looked back at the Monster.

"Fine," he agreed. "Deal."

It smiled again, crooking its finger at him to beckon, leaning against the door.

Why was Harry getting the feeling he was going to regret this?

He marched out of the door.

* * *

There were wild flowers, and bleak sunshine. It was spring time, as much as they ever got such a thing in the village.

He was gathering berries with Ginny in the fields, a teasing anticipation in his stomach. She'd been giving him her best smiles all week.

They'd stopped by the stream nearing the outlying borders – staring out into the wilderness beyond, that marked the end of the village land. The end of the curse too.

Of course, they couldn't there. Crossing the river was suicide, people had seen it happen.

"I wonder what it's like, out there," she murmured, eyes distant. He'd squeezed her hand, and thought her hair looked like fire in fading light.

One thing led to another, and their lips had brushed, gently. The first time in many.

* * *

Harry gasped in surprise as he was immediately hauled away from the door. He was crowded up against the wall, lips pressed against his own as the memory flashed through his mind.

Then it was gone, and he was panting gently, the Monster's eerie face inches from his own. He cleared his throat.

Then all of a sudden it was gone. He knew what he'd traded, but it wasn't in his mind for him to find. The memory had vanished, sucked up into the Monster's mouth.

"How sweet," it said, nose wrinkling slightly. "Though they normally are…soft, full of promises and hope. It's like Marzipan. I never really took you for a marzipan, offering."

"…are you going to get off me now? You promised me safe passage."

"I'm not hurting you," it countered. Harry glared.

"Passage requires movement. I don't have all ni-"

Lips crushed against his own once more, hard. Hands dug against his sides, as the Monster's mouth seared heat against his own.

He'd expected him to be cold, like the Beast. He hadn't expected him to feel like he was burning a fever, considering how he looked too. He could feel those sharp teeth, and gave a small sound of protest as the taste of copper flooded his tongue.

The Monster simply kissed harder in response, and one hand tangled in his hair, tilting his head back. A small moan escaped him, and that was swallowed up too.

He had no idea what was holding him place, but he could feel himself wrapped up in something – lighter than silk and yet unyielding.

Then it had disappeared, as the Monster stepped back.

Harry sucked automatically on his lower lip, and the cut on it.

"What the hell was that! That wasn't part of the deal? I'm bleeding, how is that safe passage?" he accused, eyes narrowed. If he felt at all flustered, he refused to admit it.

"First kiss," the Monster grinned. "I took yours . Then I decided you needed another, better one. Really, it's not fair you should die with such a terrible kiss as hers. After all, you're _my _offering, aren't you?"

Its eyes were rather vicious.  
Right, yeah, he figured that was payback for trying to manipulate the deal. Bloody hell.

He was very glad he had safe passage right now.

He forced himself to concentrate, and strode away down the corridor, laughter ringing in his ears.

At least he wasn't dead.

* * *

_A/N: So, um yeah. I apologize for the random '1's. The formatting went weird and I literally could not delete them? So I don't know. Thankfully, I don't think they're too distracting. Woo things happening in the story, anyway?_

PS: s/10155834/1/Petals-Fallen  
**This is an awesome prequel to Kisses Cursed by Lydia Theda. It is perfect. I do view it as an official prequel, though I'm sure she didn't intend it as such. But yes, go read it, love and cherish her! **


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